The Client
by lastincurableromantic
Summary: Belle de Jour takes on a new client, a post-operative Scottish DI named Alec Hardy.


**a/n: This is definitely a departure for me. I haven't written for either of these fandoms before. Definitely rated M for adult situations and swearing. Spoilers for both Broadchurch and Secret Diary of a Call Girl.  
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**The Client**

There's an old saying: do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life. Don't you believe it. No matter what you do, work is work. Even if you love what you do, there will still be things about the job that you don't like. In my case it's paperwork, something you can't seem to get away from no matter what you do for a living.

And then there is the boredom, the tedium of the day to day activities that can get old even when you're in my profession.

Don't get me wrong; I love what I do. I got into this business not because I was starving or taking care of a family or trying to pay for an expensive drug habit. No, I like sex, and I like money, and because I'm very good at what I do I've made an awful lot of money having sex.

Over the course of the years I've risen high enough in my profession that I'm not doing what I did when I started my career. I'm now in management. Simply put, the sex industry, or prostitution, or being a whore is… easier when you're young. Young clients want a young-looking woman—no one wants to feel like he's sleeping with his mother. Well, there are a few…

But I digress. Young men typically want to have sex with a young woman, particularly if they're paying for it, and frankly, older men do as well. Middle aged men like to imagine that they're still young and attractive enough to attract a young woman, in and out of the bedroom. Particularly out of the bedroom. They want arm candy. That's why there are so many trophy wives out there. Men who can afford it think they can somehow demonstrate their virility by having a young woman clinging to their arm out in public, and clinging to other things in private.

So in my profession, no matter how good you are, looking young is a big plus. And it's easier to look young if you actually are young. It's easier to look like you're twenty-two if you are twenty-two – or twenty-five, or nineteen – than if you're thirty-two. Oh, you can still do it in your thirties, particularly if you take care of yourself and you have good genes, but it takes more time and a lot more work. Most prostitutes eventually get to a point where they no longer want to make the effort. Then they either retire or become madams.

I've chosen the second route. Oh, I haven't let myself go, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I can see the calendar and I can see the writing on the wall so I've begun arranging dates rather than going on them.

But God, it's boring, so occasionally, alright a little more than occasionally, I still take on clients. I still have a few regulars from the old days, but when it's been a while between clients, or when I'm truly, truly bored, I phone my friend Rita. She specializes in arranging dates for clients who want a slightly more… experienced woman.

The madam has a madam.

After a bit of a dry spell, I phoned Rita and she promised to phone me the next time she got a call from a new client. And I knew she would. She's wonderful that way. She rings me when one of her clients wants a much younger woman, and I ring her when I want a job.

She phoned me back almost immediately.

And that's how I found myself in the bar of the Randolph Hotel on a Thursday night in early September.

Meeting a new client in the hotel bar is always best, or at least I prefer it. It gives the first-time client an opportunity to back out if they become nervous about the whole thing, and it gives me a chance to see the client in a neutral setting. If something seems off about him, or her, I can usually leave without having a scene, often without meeting the client at all.

The bar was half-full when I arrived. I spotted him immediately. He was sitting at the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him. I knew it was him because he was the only one sitting alone. All the other customers were with someone. A few of the women I recognized as professionals. Oddly, that rarely happens to me, running into someone I know. But London is one of the biggest cities in the world, and as such there is a great deal of anonymity. It's one of the reasons I love it.

But getting back to the client. As I said, I spotted him straight off, and I almost immediately left. He had the look of a cop for some reason. Even from where I stood at the door, I could see the cheap, slightly wrinkled dark grey suit, the narrow tie, the relatively inexpensive but sturdy black shoes, the unshaven face. All of it screamed cop to me. Or alcoholic, unsuccessful businessman. Neither of which I usually take on as clients, in part because frankly they usually can't afford my services.

As I have said, I'm very good at what I do.

But there's another reason I usually don't take on cops as clients. Although they come to me for sex, unless they are hypocrites (whom I don't care for), they are usually overly-moralistic about it and afterwards I have often received lectures about the dangers of the profession and how a nice girl like me shouldn't be doing this. Save me from the sanctimonious lectures. No amount of money is worth that. If I want a speech like that I can visit my family, who have given me speeches like that my whole life, even before I became an escort.

But this evening I was desperate for a distraction, so I found myself crossing the room and sitting next to him at the bar before I even realized I had left the doorway.

"Alec?" I asked, even though I knew who he was. "I'm Belle."

He turned to me, and at the sight of his eyes I almost left. Dark, chocolate brown, fathomless, the kind of eyes you could fall into and never escape. Not good.

People talk about love at first sight, and others explain it away as pheromones or hormones or genetic race memory. Having never experienced it, I personally had no opinion, but at that moment I felt something. Something more than just physical attraction. A connection, almost.

It took me almost five seconds to tear my eyes away from his, which is a much longer length of time than it sounds, and I realized that despite the day-old growth, despite the wrinkled suit, despite the fact that his hair—his thick, dark brown hair—was in severe need of a cut, he was the singularly most handsome man I had ever met in my life. My heart began to pound like a schoolgirl's on her first date.

In my profession, being attracted to a client is a bonus, but not this attracted.

Then I realized a pained look had crossed his face. I quickly glanced down at myself. Red silk top, unbuttoned just enough to show cleavage without revealing brassiere, short, black skirt, revealing but not too revealing, no spills on said top or skirt…

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, wondering if I had something in my teeth.

He shook his head. "It's just… can you not call me Alec?" he asked, and I realized he had a lovely Scottish burr to his voice.

"Alright," I said slowly, even seductively. "You'd prefer anonymity then."

He shook his head again. "No, it's not that," he said, slightly dropping the last t. "It's just… I never cared for the name Alec." He shuddered ever so slightly, and I smiled. It was said with such honesty, he seemed altogether human, altogether genuine. It made him more attractive, and it briefly crossed my mind he might be more trouble than he was worth. But I couldn't bear to leave now.

"So what would you like me to call you?" I asked.

"Do ya… do ya really need to call me anythin'?" he asked. "I mean… I'm lookin' at you, you're lookin' at me, I know you're talkin' to me…"

The speech was said with such uncertainty that I felt a wave of desire for him. Well, to be honest, _another_ wave of desire for him. I found myself biting my upper lip uncertainly, something I did as Hannah and something I almost never did as Belle. But I forced myself to stop. I needed to be Belle, not Hannah.

"Well, you can call me Belle," I said. "Or not. Whichever you prefer. After all, I already know you're talking to me."

He smiled at that, a small, rueful smile. It somehow changed his whole face, and I adjusted upward my estimation of his attractiveness. He wasn't just handsome. He was gorgeous.

We sat there and stared at each other for a moment, and I realized that Alec found me as attractive as I found him. Well, he was supposed to find me attractive, I reminded myself. It was my job to be attractive to my clients.

But still. I was… happy he was attracted to me.

Eventually he cleared his throat and looked away. "So how's this supposed to work then?" he asked.

"How do you want it to work?" I asked back. "We could go up to your room, or we could stay here, have a couple of drinks, talk a little bit first."

He didn't answer, and I could tell he was a little nervous, which surprised me. Now that I could see him up close, I could see wrinkles around his eyes, laugh lines they call them, and I estimated his age to be early forties. Perhaps a decade more than me. Certainly old enough not to be a virgin. And attractive enough to have any woman he met probably.

Some first time clients do get a little nervous. It's a new situation, with someone who probably has had sex with more people than they have ever even met. But I didn't expect Alec to be one of them. If he really was a cop, he undoubtedly had faced far more stressful situations than sex with a stranger.

"What brings you to London?" I asked to break the awkward silence that was developing.

"Appointment," he said shortly.

"For work?"

"Not exactly."

So whatever it was, he didn't want to talk about it. One of the first things I learned as an escort is that when a client doesn't want to discuss something, you don't discuss it. Time for a change of subject.

"So, what do you do, Ale— " I stopped myself. He had specifically asked me not to call him by his first name. "I'm sorry," I said. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a detective," he replied. "Detective Inspector Alec Hardy. Retired."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I'm surprised."

"Why, don't I look like a detective?" he asked disbelievingly.

"No, actually you do," I told him. "In fact, I guessed you were a cop the moment I came in here. I'm a very good judge of people."

"I would imagine you'd have to be in your line of work," he said. To my surprise, he didn't sound critical; instead he just sounded like he was making an observation. It was… nice.

"I'd imagine that cops do, too," I said, smiling at him.

"Detective Inspector," he corrected. "Not 'a cop'."

"Detective Inspector," I said with a nod, acknowledging the correction. "No, I'm surprised you're retired. You seem a little young for that."

"Yeah, well…" He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. Oh. Another topic he didn't want to talk about. I made a mental note. "Why don't we go upstairs?" he said.

I cleared my throat and remained seated. For a second he looked puzzled, and then he nodded. He pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to me. I discretely placed it in my purse.

We took the lift up to the fourth floor in silence and then silently made our way to his room. He didn't touch me on the way up, which was not necessarily unusual, particularly with first time clients. Once in the room, I gave him a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth while I removed his already loosened tie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

"While I make a phone call, why don't you take a shower?" I suggested in a low voice.

He nodded sharply and left the room. After a brief call to Rita, giving her the simple message of 'no problem', I pulled out the envelope and counted the money.

"Huh," I said quietly. "Five hundred pounds." I was surprised. First of all, that my price had evidently gone up, and second, that DI Alec Hardy could afford so much money. No. From the cut, and condition, of his suit, I knew he couldn't. But five hundred pounds was too little for an all-nighter, plus Rita hadn't scheduled me for one, only for the evening. So why would he… "He must be desperate."

The shower was still going, so after I put the money back in the envelope and returned the envelope to my purse, I removed my blouse and skirt, revealing a skimpy, black lace bra and matching black thong. Although I slipped out of my shoes, I left my lacy black stockings on since most clients prefer to watch me remove them. I hung up my clothes so that they wouldn't wrinkle and placed a handful of condoms on the nightstand along with a small, discrete container of baby wipes. I then got into bed, and waited.

He was out of the shower in just another minute or so, and he came into the room drying his hair with a small hand towel. A larger towel was slung low around his hips. A towel which was already somewhat tented in anticipation. The position of the towel revealed a thin line of dark hair, a happy trail, leading from his navel downward as well as an old appendectomy scar, and the hair on his chest was short, shorter than would be considered normal, but I hardly noticed any of that. Instead what had grabbed my attention was an angry red scar in the middle of his chest. I quickly sat up, my eyes wide.

Alec caught me staring and looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. "If it bothers you, I can put my undershirt back on."

"No," I said quickly. The first rule of being an escort, after getting the money up front, is to never make the client feel uncomfortable or ashamed of his body. "I just…" I was biting my lip again and forced myself to stop. "Is that why…"

"Why I retired? Aye."

I moved to kneel on the bed and held out my hand to him. He took it and sat down next to me. "What… what happened? Were you… shot?"

He shook his head. "Nothin' so dramatic as that. Heart surgery. They had to put in a pacemaker. The appointment today was to clear me for… normal activity."

I reached out with my hand, stopping just short of touching the scar with my fingertips. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he said. "Not anymore."

"Good," I said, nodding. "Good. And is this…" I gestured around the room. "Is doing this alright?"

"Aye," he told me. "Like I said, the doctor cleared me for normal activity."

As soon as I realized my fingers were still hovering over the scar, I quickly yanked my hand back.

"You can touch it if ye like," he said.

"Do you want me to touch it?"

"I want you to touch me," he said in a low voice. At his words, I glanced up and his eyes met mine. Dark brown. Fathomless. I quickly looked away.

"Where?" I asked.

"Everywhere."

It came out in a whisper, and I slowly smiled. I reached out my hand again and just gently brushed his chest with my fingertips, gliding them across his pectoral muscles and around his nipples before moving to the scar. It was rough, as was his chest hair that was growing back after having been shaved for what I realized now was surgery. I spread my hand flat and caressed him, palm against bare chest, and I could feel his eyes on me, watching me as I examined him. I looked up.

"Is this alright?" I asked, meeting his eyes. They truly were riveting, even darker than before, the pupils huge with desire, and again I was struck with the thought that I could lose myself in them.

"Oh, aye," he breathed.

I scooted forward, my head moving toward his until our lips were just centimeters apart. I could feel his warm breath against my lips and his heart pound within his chest.

"Now you tell me if there is anything you want to do, or don't want to do," I said softly. "And particularly if anything is even slightly uncomfortable."

He nodded. He was staring at my lips, and I automatically moistened them without meaning to.

"Promise?" I asked.

"Aye," he said. "I promise."

Our eyes fell closed as I slowly closed the gap between us. His lips were so incredibly soft under mine. As we kissed, he began to pull me onto his lap, and I moved to straddle him. I could feel him rock hard and fully erect against my core. I rubbed myself against him, eliciting a moan. From both of us.

Now don't get me wrong, I moan a lot in my profession. It's part of the job. But it usually is an act. As much as I enjoy sex, even bad sex, it doesn't usually cause me to moan involuntarily. Particularly this soon.

Feeling my own heart pound against my chest, in combination with hearing myself moan, brought me back to myself. If I was feeling my heart pound, what must he be feeling? I pulled away far enough to meet his eyes again.

"Are you still alright?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. Relieved, I moved to resume kissing him, and he stopped me. "Belle, before we go any further, you need to know something. It's been a while since the last time…"

"Since the last time you had sex?"

"Aye."

"I figured that," I told him. "When you told me that the doctor had just given you the go ahead today, I assumed that you hadn't had sex since before the surgery. How long ago was it?"

"The surgery was six weeks ago, but I was in pretty bad shape before the surgery so the doctor wanted me to wait for a while, to make sure I was completely recovered," he said. "But actually it's been since before, well, since before my divorce. 'S probably been a couple of years by now."

I tried to stop myself gaping at him. A couple of years? Well, that explained a lot. I get restless if a couple of weeks go by between goes.

"There was someone a bit ago, someone I thought…" He swallowed and looked off in the distance for a moment. "My health problems… scared her. When she looked at me, I think all she saw were my health problems."

First a divorce, then another rejection immediately after? No wonder he was willing to pay so much for a professional. I put my arms around his neck.

"Well, then, I reckon that you've waited long enough," I said, and he slowly grinned.

"I reckon, too," he said and pulled me close.

After another long, slow kiss, one that involved softened lips, open mouths and just the right amount of tongue, I felt him trying to undo my bra. He evidently was out of practice. I backed away and unfastened it myself, letting it slowly drop from my shoulders. I tossed it aside, not paying attention to where it landed.

At the sight of my naked breasts, Alec's jaw dropped. Although my breasts inspired admiration from my clients, they rarely had that effect.

It really had been a while for him. And if he had been divorced, he probably hadn't been getting regular sex for a while before that either.

He moved his hands from my back to my front, taking the time to trail them down my back, around my ribs, and up my abdomen to finally cup my breasts. He squeezed gently before dipping his head to place kisses on my neck and downward. When he reached my collarbone, I lifted myself up onto my knees, allowing him to catch my right nipple in his mouth. The other he continued to massage, rolling the tender flesh between finger and thumb. I hummed appreciatively.

With a start, I realized that although he might be enjoying himself, I was probably enjoying this more than he was, and this wasn't about me, this was about him. I gently pushed him backwards and he caught himself with his hands. He looked at me in surprise.

"I thought you liked that," he said.

"Oh, I did," I replied. "Believe me, I did. But this is about what you like, what you want, not about me." Wordlessly I encouraged him to move further back on the bed.

"I liked that," he told me as he scooted backwards. As he moved, the towel fell off. I smiled appreciatively. He smirked.

"Like that, do ya?" he asked.

"Oh, I do," I told him. "I really, really do. And I intend to show you exactly just how much. But first…"

I got up and placed one foot on the bed so I could slowly roll down one stocking. After I had done the other, I pushed my thong slowly over my hips and let it fall to the floor. Then I joined him on the bed and crawled up his body.

After placing a kiss on his lips, I began kissing down his body, jaw, throat, collarbone… and then stopped when I reached his scar. I gently touched it again, thinking about the implications of it. Heart problems bad enough that he had needed a pacemaker. And he was so thin. A lot of that was natural leanness, I could tell by his long limbs and his long, slender hands, but some was certainly from illness.

He could have died before I even met him, I realized. And for some reason that thought really bothered me.

Really, really bothered me.

I hardly knew him. Why did it bother me so much?

Shoving the thought aside, I bent down and kissed it before continuing to move downward again.

I pride myself at being able to put on a condom without using my hands. In fact, once I didn't use my mouth either, managing to put it in position and roll it on using just my toes. But this situation didn't call for anything fancy. Since he had been celibate for so long, I was probably a greater risk to him than vice versa, plus I was on the pill for a double layer of protection, but I certainly wasn't going to go against good policy and years of ingrained behavior. So I reached up and grabbed one of the foil packets, ripped it open with my teeth, and rolled it on him.

I could tell it had been a very long time since he had been touched, because he moaned from even that contact. I stroked him twice, gently cupping his balls as I did so, and then lowered my mouth to him. He groaned and shook his head.

"Belle," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry. It's been too long; I'm too close." And then with a shout he was coming.

As stomach muscles tightened and hands clutched my hair, I rode out his climax with him, gently sucking, stroking and massaging, hoping to salvage a bad sexual experience for him. Normally I prefer it when a client comes quickly the first time, especially a new client. It relaxes him and relieves the pressure of performance anxiety. But not in this case. I instinctively knew how important it was to him to be able to make the experience last, particularly after heart problems.

When he was finished, he moved to remove the condom and I stopped him.

"Please, let me," I said.

After I had tossed both condom and used baby wipe in the bin, I returned and climbed back up his body.

He apologized again, and I placed a fingertip on his lips, stopping him from continuing.

"No, I'm sorry," I told him. "It was my fault for rushing things. You told me it had been a while. I should have guessed that it would happen quickly."

"I haven't come so quickly since I was a teenager," he said ruefully. He paused for a moment before continuing. "I just was hoping to spend more time with you than that."

"I'm sorry," I said again. I was horrified that the experience was so bad for him he was considering chucking me out. "Did you want me to leave?"

His eyes widened. "Nae," he said quickly, his accent a bit thicker with vehemence. "I just thought…"

"You paid for the whole evening," I told him. "I'll stay as long as you want."

He smiled in relief.

"This evening is about whatever you want," I continued. "If you want sex, then sex. If you want to talk, we'll talk."

He pulled me into his arms and pressed kisses into my hair. In return, I kissed him on a prominent freckle he had on his shoulder. "You have a lot of them?" he asked. "People who just want to talk?"

"Some," I said. "Others just want a movie and a cuddle."

"I'm not much of a talker," he said.

"Neither am I," I admitted with a laugh. "In fact, it took me years to even tell my best mate what I did for a living."

Alec snorted. "I can imagine."

"So, do you want to watch a movie?" I asked. "Bit of telly and a cuddle?"

"No," he said, sounding surprised by his answer. "I'd rather talk, I guess."

"Alright," I said. "Tell me about yourself, Detective Inspector." As I was saying it, I found I really wanted to know. When he didn't answer right away, I continued. "Tell me about your job. Your last case."

"Alright," he said. " 'S not like it hasn't been all over the news lately. There was this case, in Broadchurch, a little boy had been found. Dead, on the beach. Turned out a coworker of mine's… a friend's… husband had killed him."

"Oh, that's horrible!"

"Aye," he said quietly.

Over the next hour, as if a dam had begun to break, bit by bit he told me about his experiences in Broadchurch, about being hired after a coworker had been promised the job, about not fitting in, about his heart attack. That led to talking about another case in Sanbrook, his divorce, and his daughter.

As he talked, I could tell that he wasn't usually this open about his life, and that openness prompted me to talk as well. I felt a connection to him that I hadn't felt with another person in a very, very long time. And since he obviously knew what I did, I felt open, safe to talk to him: about the first man I fell in love with, Alex, and how he broke up with me when he discovered I was an escort; about Ben, and the difficulties I'd had with him over the years; about my family, my close relationship with my father and contentious relationships with my mother and sister.

"She's pregnant again," I said. "A girl this time. She wants me to be godmother again, but I can't imagine why. 'S not like I've done a good job the first time."

"Maybe she just wants to reach out to you," he said. He gently brushed back a lock of my hair that had fallen in my face. "Family is important. Sometimes you don't realize how important until you've lost it."

"Yeah," I agreed quietly, knowing he was talking less about my situation than his own.

He bent to kiss me, and it was perfect. His last orgasm having taken the edge off his hunger, it was soft, lazy, with him only opening his mouth to me when I silently urged him. He was incredibly good at it, gently sucking my lips into his mouth in turn, first the bottom and then the top, before finally touching my tongue with his. I felt a familiar heat pooling in my core, spreading downwards, and this time when he moved his mouth to my breast I let him.

Alec was good at this as well. He seemed to instinctively know how I liked it, flicking the nipple with his tongue just so, applying exactly the right amount of pressure with his teeth. Like before, I involuntarily moaned, but desire had overridden common sense and instead of pushing him away I threaded my fingers in his hair and held him in place while I thrust up into him with my hips.

He thrust back. He was hard again, harder than before, and blindly I reached for another condom. He was quicker than I was, snagging it practically out from under my hand. He backed away and ripped open the foil packet by himself, quickly rolling it on before slipping a hand between my thighs.

"Oh, you're so wet," he breathed. "Can I… Are you ready?"

I hadn't had anyone be this considerate with me for a very long time. And to be perfectly honest, I had been ready for him for a while, probably since the first time he had touched my breasts. Maybe even from the first time his eyes met mine when we were down in the bar.

"Please," I found myself begging.

He moved himself into position and thrust into me, hard, pressing deep inside and managing to hit my clit with his pelvic bone. We both moaned.

"Fuck," he said. "Feels so good."

"God, yes," I agreed.

He began to move, slow and hard, rocking to rub against my clit. I wanted to protest, to tell him he didn't have to do that, he could think of his own pleasure instead of mine, but what came out was another loud moan. I wantonly rubbed back, my breath coming out in pants.

I was so close.

He began to thrust, and I cried out. As the tension built within me, I tightly wrapped my legs around his and grabbed his arse to urge him on.

I was so damned close.

And then I shattered.

"Oh God yes, Alec," I yelled, probably loud enough for them to hear me in the lobby. His thrusts became erratic, but I barely noticed. I was still coming, feeling it all the way to my fingertips and feet and face.

He swore as he came, his body arched and his head thrown back as he pulsed within me. Finally, as we both recovered, he rolled onto his back and carried me with.

"Fuck, Belle," he panted. "That was…"

"Hannah," I corrected. "My name, my real name, is Hannah."

His eyebrows shot up as he realized what an unusual thing it was for me to share it with someone. Particularly a client.

"Hannah," he said, rolling the syllables around in his mouth as if he had never said it before. Maybe he hadn't. It's not a particularly common name anymore.

"And I'm sorry," I said. "I know you don't like to be called Alec. I just wasn't thinking…"

" 'S alright. In fact, I kinda like the way you say it," he admitted. And then he grinned. "Particularly that last time."

I grinned back before I started to get up. I was only going to the bathroom for a damp flannel, but when he grabbed my hand I realized he didn't understand that.

"Hannah," he said hesitantly. "Is there anywhere you need to be? Later, I mean. After you're done here."

I shook my head.

"Then would you… would you want to… stay with me tonight?"

I didn't do this. Well, I did do all-nighters, but not usually with first-time clients and not usually without making arrangements in advance.

And never without charging a whole lot more.

"Yes," I replied quietly, my mouth turning upwards into a small smile. "Yes, I'll stay."

We spent the next few hours chatting and watching telly. We even ordered a pizza, something his cardiologist had okayed for him to eat as long as it was only on a very, very occasional basis.

And we shagged. Twice. It wasn't the best sex I'd ever had, but it was pretty damned close.

Finally, as we lay in each other's arms, he yawned and I found myself yawning too. I reached over and snapped off the light, and he leaned over and briefly kissed me.

"G'night, Hannah," he said softly.

"G'night, Alec," I said.

I make it a rule never to sleep with a client. I sleep during the day, so I usually am not tired enough to sleep, plus it's just safer to stay awake because you never know what a client might do. On all-night jobs I used to bring a book to read while the client slept. Now I bring a Kindle because I can set the screen's light level on low and read with the lights off. I can even check my email if I want.

That night I slept.

I woke up to Alec spooning me, with his lips on my shoulder and his erection pressing hard against my arse.

It had been a long time since I had been woken up that way, and I realized how much I missed it. I thrust back against him as I reached for a condom.

"Already have one on," he told me, and my mouth twisted into a small grin.

I spread my legs a little, allowing him to slip inside, and he rocked against me while one hand cupped my breast. It was a position I had rarely used, and almost never with a client, and it was absolutely lovely. Despite not facing him, due to the slow pace it seemed incredibly intimate. I turned my head and we kissed, a long, deep snog.

Although I was enjoying it, I doubted I could come that way. The angle wasn't right for one thing. But then he moved his hand to rub my clit and I discovered I was wrong.

He came with a satisfied groan just after I did, and after he had slipped out of me, I turned in his arms.

"Good morning," I said.

"Mornin'. Bloody fantastic way to start the day, yeah?"

"Yeah." I slowly grinned.

We showered together just for the hell of it, playfully sudsing each other up. Since we had just shagged, nothing more came of it, but he still seemed to enjoy me washing him, and I couldn't stop myself imagining him taking me against the wall from behind, the water running over us as he fucked me.

I almost told him about my fantasy, and then I stopped myself. He was a client. You don't ever talk about 'next time' with a client.

But I had stopped thinking of him as just another client hours and hours ago. In fact, I had stopped thinking of him as a client at all.

We dressed quietly, and he went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving his jacket hanging on the chair at the desk. As soon as he went in, I quickly opened my purse and pulled out my business card and the envelope he had given me the previous night. With a hotel pen I wrote the phone numbers to my personal mobile and my flat on my card, along with a note telling him to call me the next time he was in London. Then I placed it in the envelope and put the envelope in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

I was sitting at the desk, beginning to do my makeup, when he entered the room.

"Hannah," he said. I stopped what I was doing and turned to him. "You know, even though you're beautiful with makeup on, you're prettier without it."

I smiled and put the makeup away. If he liked me without it, that's how I wanted him to remember me.

An awkward silence descended as we both realized our time together was ending. I took a deep breath. "So where are you going next?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Scotland. My train leaves in a couple of hours," he told me. "I need to tie up some loose ends with a case, and I want to see my daughter." He gave me a wry grin. "Not in that order of course."

"If you've been cleared for normal activity, are you going to try to get your old job back?" I asked. Although he hadn't said, while we had been talking I had gotten the sense that he missed it.

"Dunno," he said. "I haven't decided."

"Are you coming back to London any time soon?"

He nodded. "For the occasional checkup," he said, gesturing at his chest. He didn't suggest seeing me again, and I hoped that was just because of the money, not because of me personally. He crossed the room to grab his jacket, and I stood up and kissed him, effectively stopping him from picking it up. I didn't want him to find the envelope until I had already left.

As he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, I put my hands behind his head to gently rake my fingernails through his hair and along the back of his neck. I felt him shiver.

He pulled away from me to meet my eyes. Dark brown, I thought. Fathomless. "Hannah, thank you," he said. "You're the first person to look at me as a man – not a detective or a patient – in a very long time."

I looked down at his mouth and moved my fingertips to his lips, not to stop him talking, but just to feel them, particularly the full, lower one. That one had to be my favorite. Then I looked in his eyes again.

"That's just because when I look at you, I don't see a detective or a patient. I just see a man, a very desirable, very, very sexy man."

An unreadable expression crossed his face, and he pulled me in for another snog. I took the opportunity to gently suck on that pouty lower lip, something I hoped I wasn't doing for the last time.

"Do you want me to walk you down?" he asked when I finally pulled away.

I shook my head and bit my lip. I didn't stop myself. I was Hannah now with him, not Belle.

"No," I said. "I want you to remember me here, in this room, kissing you, not driving away in a taxi."

He lifted a finger to caress my cheek. "Aye. I want that too. But I doubt there's any danger of forgetting this past night."

I smiled, surprising myself by feeling my eyes prickle with unshed tears. What was it about this man that produced such feelings in me?

I quickly kissed him, grabbed my purse, and strode out the door before I said something foolish. Something I wasn't sure of. Something about something I couldn't possibly be feeling yet.

Something Belle couldn't feel. Something Hannah shouldn't.

When I walked out of the hotel, it was Hannah who looked upward to the fourth floor and imagined seeing him at the window looking down.

But it was Belle who got in the taxi and drove away.


End file.
